THE DAEMON'S VOICE is an ongoing reveal of a thesis of the dynamic and fluid nature of "reality" and our inherent sovereignty over personal subjective experience. We are sovereign iterations of the Ultimate divine. Designed to create liberation from destructive self talk and enhance empowerment and mindful lucid benevolence, THESE CONCEPTS ARE BEST UNDERSTOOD BY SCROLLING TO THE BOTTOM AND READING FROM THERE UP. All entries are copyrighted.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Callaghan’s Cat and Schrodinger’s Dog

So, many of you know that I died and had a remarkable NDE at the age of 20, in 1978. I am soon to be 59, and the brain damage that caused the NDE has been with me ever since, resulting in very frequent 6 to 12 second partial seizures which start in the Temporal Lobes (bilaterally) move to the Parietal lobes and then to the Occipital lobes. They happen about 18 times per hour, around the clock and, although consciousness is not impaired, it is certainly different. Drugs have not proved able to control the seizures or even slow them down, and they had some terrible side effects, so I am presently unmedicated, and I am good with that.
During my NDE I dived back down into the time stream of my life and actually re-lived many experiences during my "life review". At first, it was as if I were right back in my life with no memory that I had gotten there by dying, entering a lustrous void, and then returning to revisit these vignettes as part of my "life review". But each time I ascended from the immersive experience of reliving these vignettes, returning to the eternal context of the void, I found myself in the presence of a benevolent Being I had all my life experienced as accompanying me. It was quite the surprise that it happened that way too because, although He had felt completely real to me as a child, I had relegated him, by the age of 15, to the status of chimerical. When I died and went into the void, there He was in a lustrous, timeless dimension which seemed to be full of His love. I have never since doubted His presence or reality.
The most interesting thing was that, each time I ascended from the dream of my life to be with him again in the void, it felt much like swimming up from a dive I'd taken into a murky submerged world, and I would recall, more and more, both the life I was leaving – and the presence I was ascending to be with again. I call Him simply "Michael" or, often, "Beloved". It's important to note here that "God" was not unmentioned during this NDE, but he was not the sort of God we are taught to think of through religion. All he seemed to be was love that is self aware – and all he wanted was for us to be kind to one another. Indeed, he wanted us to grow to be ever more like him, and the way to do that was by being loving to each other – even to strangers. As an aside, time has taught me that it is precisely when people appear least to deserve our kindness that being kind is the most transformative.
Memory research indicates that one cannot recall their dreams unless they experience recalling them in the transitional states between waking and dreaming because the chemical millieu changes from waking to sleeping, and memories can only be retrieved in the chemical setting in which they were initially stored or the slightly altered gradients of chemistry adjacent. Accordingly, there is created a sense of diving down from one chemical state into another and then ascending as we waken. In just this way, I dragged memories of my life up to lucid awareness of Michael's presence and, when I descended, I also carried with me, more and more each time, memory of Him into the dream of my life re-visited. In a queer way this seems to have served to work backwards through time, making the mind of the child I recalled being more permeable to His presence and His guidance. I don't know why so few others have this experience, but I am glad I did because I needed that guidance as mine was a treacherous childhood and I had mostly been very rash and very bold.
The NDE also created an impassive, mostly detached, experience of my memories and has since served to help me feel more detached from terrible things that occur to all of us at one time or another. Among the terrible things that can happen, one is the loss of a beloved pet, most often dogs or cats – but not to death, although this is certainly very painful as well. Instead, they simply disappear: We cannot find them. It's an uniquely heart breaking experience because you don't know what has become of them, and that uncertainty leaves the mind free to imagine all manner of horrific situations. This, as some know, recently happened to me. But, none of you know that, just a week before that happened, a cat I loved very very much, died in terrible suffering in my arms while I tried desperately to save him. His name was Bindu, and he was so named because he’d slept each night as a kitten over the spot on my head known as the chakra Bindu. It is purported to be our place of attachment to the divine.
It was March 28th, 2016  my favorite time of year in Florida because the oak trees are in bright spring green new leaves and Easter, my most favorite holiday, was in my heart and mind. I had been writing of my NDE – the single most defining event of my life – it was a new encounter with death. I'd had a realization while I was writing about the reality of the Presence of the Beloved “Other” in whom we are taught to believe (quite easily) as children. He leaves us shining gifts and sweets under our dazzling Christmas trees, and He leaves us magical eggs, symbolizing rebirth and renewal, hidden in the grass and reeds. While I had been writing, I had recalled how unhappy I had been to find out that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were not real  and then it suddenly occurred to me that they were real in a way I'd never suspected  until that moment. They were metaphors for the benevolent presence of God. Indeed God does leave gifts hidden in every sweet occurrence and in every “suffering,” waiting to be discovered, so that suffering may be redeemed by lessons gained thereby. I call my method of forgiving “The Way of Redemption” because I “redeem” each sadness for the beauty of the magical “eggs (seeds) of understanding” I find therein. All I need do to find them is reserve judgement and wait for them to emerge to understanding. With this renewed perspective that the “Beloved Other” does indeed exist, and that it is his greatest pleasure that we come to know ourselves as extensions of him, I rose from writing. Joyous and satisfied with the progress I'd made, I went to my bedroom where I found my Bindu dying.
Words cannot express the horror show it was, nor would I inflict it on you. I cannot yet get the sounds and images out of my mind. I shall never forget the sounds he spent his last breath to make as death separated us. He cried with me, and the sound he made was a shattered scream of "No, I don't want to leave you!" And then he was gone. He'd spent his last breath saying "Goodbye".
Afterwards, I barely cried. "Alight," I exclaimed and sighed. "So, You're dead," I asserted. And then I collapsed. Blood pressure plummeted. Heart raced. I was white as a sheet and sick, barfing, innards roiling. I have moderate, not mild, impairment of my Autonomic Nervous System on the parasympathetic side. Once keyed up, I don’t slowly return to normal. It takes a chemical "rubber mallet" to sedate me at night but, when hit hard emotionally, I crash.
I called a dear friend. She came, stayed four hours, called my sister, who started the drive up from Tampa 200 miles away, and then my friend called EMTs. Bad juju.
Detachment is important for me, given my neurological condition, and yet I am a terribly passionate soul, and “terribly” is the perfect adjective here. God rendered this heart, both beautifully and terribly passionate. This had happened to me before, when my Daddy died. It went on for five years after he passed. Three or four times a day I would feel as if I were dying and a malignant thought kept intruding into my mindspace saying, "You shall drop dead at any second, surely you will. You cannot live without your heart." This Bindu loss was going to be a hard one to redeem. Terrible and beautiful.
Stange help came on May 15th, 2016. New acquaintances came to look at a van I had for sale. Between the three of us no one noticed when Grace, my Great Pyrenees, jumped inside. We did not see her although she weighs almost 100 lbs. We closed the van. That night, she did not come to dinner call and I began searching, certain in my heart that one of these men who had come to look at the van had taken her. They were strangers, after all and, although very friendly, I am cryptically suspicious of people – even people I know well, until I have watched them operate in a range of situations and I have built a mental profile of what to expect of them. I kept feeling it had something directly to do with their visit – and it triggered the latent paranoia that my childhood had fostered in my heart and mind. Pitbull fighting and cock fighting happens in the sticks where I live and dogs, and cats can be stolen and used to bait train a pitbull to enhance aggression. The thought made the blood drain from my head and my heart raced as passion rose. Even though Gracie is a Great Pyrenees she is kind and gentle and friendly an ingenue easy to haul into a vehicle and carry away. I asked Michael and He said “She is near. She is alive. She is hidden”. Four AM found me walking the venomous snake habitat of power easements, and along roads with a head lamp, having scoured my 14 acres of woods and fields and found her nowhere.
“Why are you doing this?” Michael asked. “You are looking for what you do not want to find: a body. Have I not cautioned you about the power of fear and passion to manifest what you would not to experience?”
Yet I searched because I could not live with myself to do otherwise.
I did everything a distraught and defeated person could. I called and called, and I canvassed the neighborhood. I traveled to a city 25 miles away and handed out fliers there. I spoke with every level of law enforcement, every agency and animal shelter. No, I didn't bother the FBI, but it crossed my irrational mind once – along with the mayhem I might mete out when I met whomever had taken Gracie. I would waken, dreaming that I had heard her bark and go out into the night every night, several times each night, and look and call and call. Nothing. She was nowhere. I began to think I was hallucinating, which I do do on the rare occasion, when waking or falling asleep, because of the brain damage, so it stands to reason grief might bring it on. I asked Michael. He said, “She is near. She is alive. She is hidden.” He said it many times. I took “hidden” to mean stolen. He repeated Himself until I was annoyed that He didn't simply tell me where to find her. I kept looking, becoming passionately, terribly, resolute.
“I WILL FIND HER. I invoke The Will that is Holy.”
What do we know about Florida? Bloody hot and humid. What do we know about a dog locked in a car or van in Florida in mid May? They don’t have much time, but a strong cold front had extended the cool a couple of days for me, and put others north and west of me, under serious snow. Where I was, highs were in the mid to upper eighty degrees range. My suspicion was that she had been taken from me. Grace was taken. No small significance, that. I'd lost Bindu. I lost detachment from the dream of the world, and I'd lost my attachment to the place where my being touches the divine. I lost Grace. But I DID grow resolute – terribly resolute.
Michael has always told me “Plant the seed of desire with great passion in the dark reaches and do not look. Do not dig it up to see how it fares, nor natter, nor repeat the desire. Simply be thankful for it's reality growing into your experience. To do otherwise states your doubt and the double minded (ambivalent) get nothing.” We are not allowed to check in on Schrodinger’s cat. If we want it to emerge from the black box alive, we must determine passionately, terribly, because this opens a tiny singularity through which we step from one timeline  in which things do not seem as we would have them be  into another, where all is well.
FOUR DAYS went by – four FULL days. I came in from Live Oak, 25 miles away, where I had been handing out flyers and talking with livestock and agricultural inspectors, and I brought my other Great Pyrenees, Atman, Grace’s son, into the bird room. I went to the bedroom and got half undressed, sniffling and holding back grief when I heard Grace barking. I thought “I’m losing my mind at last. Because of Bindu and then Grace, I’m losing it.” I wept in earnest at the thought, I am losing my mind from grief. I heard her bark again – and Atman agreed. HE barked, a lot: “No, really,” he insisted, “That was Grace. I heard her too”. 
I gasped, froze and covered my mouth. My eyes bugged. Heart raced. Hope rose. I ran outside, nearly naked, Michael’s words ringing in my ears: “She is near. She is alive. She is hidden.”
“Hidden? Hidden?! By what would she be hidden if not the men who came to look at the van?” I queried, peering down the fence line, looking to see her there, snagged in the fence by her collar.
“By your expectations, mayhaps – your fears?”
“Show her to me!” I demanded – and my eyes cut right, literally turning my head as sometimes happens in one of my seizures, and landed with a queer immediacy on the van – and I knew. Schrodinger’s Dog was in my van, alive, after four days with no food or water in mid-May in Florida. Un-phucking-believable.
The Beloved Other showed me the Easter Egg of redemption: My suspicious nature and my fear that someone would take Gracie from me caused me to look everywhere but in that van. Given I would have to believe she survived for four days, with all windows closed in Florida, in mid-May, in order for this to be the scenario, I was vexed. I am a scientist, after all. What the “Laws” of this world seem to demand (that Grace should be dead) my terrible determination and Will to have her back has appeared to usurp. What a joyous reunion it was!
My Bindu, took a bit more time to redeem, but I realized he was safe, with Michael as I had been, in the lustrous void – where I am even now, having never left Him at all really. I have simply taken a short dive back into the dream of my life – but into a probable future iteration because, "Time," He tells me, "does not work as we suppose: It is loops within loops, and the experiences we call our 'lives' are but dreams within a dream of separation from infinite Love. And Love is eternal." What we love, we eternalize and we cannot lose. I found Grace. She is alive and well against all odds. I steward Schrodinger’s dog and his cats as well.
I write fiction too and often dream of my characters – of having conversations with them. On May 24th, 2016, I dreamt of one of my favorite characters. Levi, from my "Vampyre Episodes" series came to me, concerned that I was still so depressed about Bindu who had been gone since March 28th. He told me Bindu had a new body and that he would get me information so I could find him because he had been reborn.
I wakened, astounded – because it was the first time I had ever dreamt of Levi and because he told me Bindu was back. I began to search for kitten adverts. I searched them all day and posted to friends all over Facebook. On May 25th, Levi returned in a dream and said "Look for Bindu with your friend," while gesturing for me to look to the right side of my visual field. There, in a lustrous void, I saw my friend Kari who had come to rescue me the day Bindu had died, and at her feet was Bindu.
Dreams, as well know, are of quirky sensibilities, and Bindu presented as he'd look about a year old. Suddenly, I saw a closeup of his face. His gaze was unmistakeable, and I noted the white on his chin flowing down to a broad white bib. I saw then his tabby body with white booted feet and Bindu turned and stretched out his back left leg to show me his back boots, which were long and ran up his legs in a strange looking white bootstrap. I thanked Levi as my heart bounded and I began to waken. I shan't ever forget his grin: A broad smile of stark white teeth, surrounded by his nearly black auburn beard. He nodded graciously as is typical of his restrained character, and I wakened and went straight for the cell phone to text Kari. I described the dream and what Bindu would look like and that he'd be about a month old and that he would come to her through a friend and then to me. In case she didn't get the message there, I went to Facebook and repeated it all. We chatted that afternoon and three days later she texted me: "Don't cry! I don't want you to seize! Look what I found!" My heart raced. Then a picture came through. It was Kari's right hand. She was driving with her left and holding up my Bindu, exactly as Levi had shown him to me as far as markings went but just a kitten four weeks old.
On the 1st of May, 2017, we celebrate his first birthday of his new life. He is beautiful – majestic even. He slept on my pillow at the top of my head every night until he got too big, and now he sleeps on the right side of my head on my pillow with my right arm curled around him. My connection to the divine is restored. I found Grace again. The trees are again in spring green. It's Easter week. When I go out to run errands or to see the doctor, I smile at "strangers" and take the earbuds out and talk with people too. Help is all around me – if I but look and listen to find them. They are precious but they are not hidden at all – if I but rise up out of my suspicious, wounded heart and into my right mind. Each is a precious shining gift. Now, put your cell phones down and talk with those shining gifts waiting to be discovered scattered all around you. Look up from the computer screen. The world and everything in it is blessed, and Love peeps out at you from behind every leaf and tree and every blade of grass.

Loving regards,

Callaghan Grant (All rights reserved)

Sunday, April 2, 2017

The Fabric of Experience

(“Ghost Writers in the Sky”)
“Dreams seem real while they last. Can you say more than this about your life?”
Havelock Ellis
Alright, I admit I am dating myself with the title. ’Sokay. I’ve reached the age where I am the only one who will (date me) and, with time, came experience. Understanding that word is magical – pivotal. Experience is a “mistake from which you have ‘learned’”, which means you have assigned meaning/significance. My edification has been all about the difference between experience and Reality. Nothing is as it seems.

“Believe nothing your ears hear,” Daddy told me, “and trust only half of what your eyes see.” We live in a world that we call a “consensual reality”. There’s a lot more to be seen than ever meets the eye. The Christ was keen on reminding us that “Ears have never heard, nor have eyes ever seen…” He also mentioned regularly “ears to hear and eyes to see” and He was not referring to the physical equipment of sensation. Let’s explore this, starting at a point on which we all might agree, at least for the sake of the metaphor I mean to present:

God, (“First Cause”) is the supreme author of Reality. Having the longest “long view” and the highest highchair, His perception is The operationally definitive “Reality”. When “He” rendered us, He gave us the power to create: other worlds, other characters (souls), and our own “story line” for the personal “lives” we experience. Things occur that appear to be beyond our control, but it is the narrative of meanings/significances we assign to those events which renders the palate of our experience. In short, God gave us a challenging environment of unlimited potential and complete creative license over our personal, subjective experience. Your world is what you make of it. Once you name it, you have claimed it: You have made the experience what it seems to you – and you are free to change your mind. “Life is but a dream” (shaboom…) and you are free to choose to dream otherwise.

As a child, I had chronic nightmares because I had, by anyone’s measure, a “terrible” childhood. Indeed, my life was a terrible beauty: “terrible” because it was a nightmare, and the hazards were real, by any definition of the word “real” (with a little “r”). But it was beautiful too because I wrested shining hope and “uncaused Joy” from the jaws of despair – illumination: lucidity. What a perceptual boon that challenge was for me! The backyard of my life was full of emotional horse poo. I discerned it was all really “pony-sign”. Indeed, I grew watchful for the ponies (Blessings). They’re easy to find when looking for them. One must but learn how to See. I did not accomplish that alone.

Because I was regularly in serious peril, by the age of five, I’d discovered within my mindspace a loving mentor whose most cherished gifts to me were His constancy of Presence, and His charity: He saw the world through forgiving eyes. He saw the Ponies and He taught me to see likewise, vesting me with enormous power over my own experience. He did this by increasing my “LQ”: “Lucidity Quotient”.

This mentor, “Michael”, shares my mindspace with perfect constancy. The constancy of His Presence and the depth of insight and peace He has taught me to experience, have convinced me of His numinous Reality. He trained me to perceive in a way that has made my own mindspace the Source of the Joy most of us seek, futilely, in the “outside” world. He is the Wellspring of my Being and my Joy. Had my childhood not been such a nightmare, had it been a happy dream, I likely would not have found Him. So, I bless the path that brought me Here.

“Seek not outside your Self. There is, after all, no world ‘out there’. There is no ‘out’. There is only Consciousness – Life, and you are It.”

The above is an axiom of True Masters. Accept nothing less than absolute dominion – Sovereignty – over your experience.

“The thing we are searching for is the Thing that is searching.”

You are Cause. If you are not Cause, you are powerless. There is no middle ground. Okay, there is, but it’s called “Hell”. No fun, that, and there’s no mojo in it. You’re here reading because you want molto mojo. (Big juju.) If you don’t want that, you need not read on. Go back to Hell. (Sorry. Don’t pass “Go”. No $200.) If you are ready to claim Mastery, you don’t have to meditate all your life, or read countless spiritual treatises. No candles, no yoga mats, no lotus pose, no incense, no credit card numbers. Nothing. What I am about to tell you is all you need. NO charge. My pleasure, to be useful, so it is. There’s your initiation speech. Imminent Masters, let’s move on. The others will catch up because we must all learn the same lessons. All we get to choose is when to learn them.

Suffering is not escaped by death, but by Truth.

So there I was, imperiled in nightmares – a little child. Powerless, right? Wrong. Michael came into my dreaming mindspace – a Companion as constant as my nightmares. When He appeared, He would remind me, from within the dream, that I had a body in what I called my “real life” and so, nothing in the dream had any “real” power over me, unless I gave it power. I could escape the dream venue, by simply waking up, at any Now. Now is pivotal because “later” never comes sooner than the monsters catch you. Moreover, the monsters from your “past” can only get into your “future” through the window of Now. Thus, Michael taught me to be Lucid in my dreams. He pointed out that, when I was afraid, I always felt a gush of heat in the core of my being. That feeling was a signal that I should remember my body, which, being unaffected by dreams, served as a life raft to my awareness waiting “above” in “wakefulness”. I could dive down into sleep, have an unpleasant experience, and ascend to the raft above – my “Wakened Self”. Interesting metaphor. Shortly, you’ll understand why He chose it.

By and by, I was lucid most of the time in my dreams. If something frightened me, I felt the heat of fear gushing through my body, and I’d just wake up. He was very pleased. Eventually, He pointed out to me that, if I could stop leaving the dream venue and remain Lucid, I could have a lot of fun.

“What sort of fun?” I probed. “Well,” He purred, “it’s your dream and your mindspace, so you can do pretty much whatever you can imagine… like fly.”
“Woooo,” said I, “Do you know how to fly?”
“Indeed I do,” He rumbled through a smile, “and I’d be pleased to teach you but, first, you must learn to be awake and remain within the dream. Then, when monsters come after you, you’ll just fly away and, as it’s your dream, if you say they can’t fly,” He shrugged, “they can’t fly.”

Easy to see how attractive this goal would be to a child. I devoted myself to it. By the age of eight I was flying all over the place in dreams. No more running away for me: I flew. Ascension had begun but I had only groked the basics of where the wings He’d shown me could take me. Soon, I also learned, because He directed me to try it, that I could, by confronting monsters and offering to make peace, turn monsters into friends. I developed a throng of monster minions. Perception still twisted, I remained “an earthbound misfit” and there were a few “setbacks”, sort of. Depends on your perspective.

The world teaches one who experiences an inner companion, not to mention that companion to others who have not given you cause to believe they will be able to relate. They call this “reality testing” in what I reckon a rather ironic, delusional sort of way, but more on that another time. By the age of fifteen, indentured to peer pressure, I had relegated Michael to the status of “chimerical”. I stopped listening to Him and did very many, really rash, things. At the age of twenty, I was riding a barrel mare chasing a stallion and very close behind him in a hard gallop. Time slipped into slow motion. (Clue.) I saw his back legs rising under his lifting rump.

He's kicking, Michael advised.
So what? I replied, He can’t get me up here.

Wrong. Dead wrong. He kicked me in the face and I found myself watching from a distance, in an “out of body” state, as the mare ran right out from under the limp form I had thought my “self”. It crashed to the ground with a truly “dispiriting” thud…

Wrecked my day, that did – for riding anyway. Suddenly, however, I was “Perfect”. Finding my “Self” in a dazzling dark void with the luster of a black pearl, Michael too, whom I had abandoned half a decade prior, was Present (as Always). He gave me an orientation: Showed me my life. In fact, I relived parts of it, and He kept calling me back up, out of the dream of my life, to the raft of His Lucid Presence waiting above, in the Illuminated Eternal, Transcended of the murky waters venue – the dream world of space-time. Like a repetitive dream, within a dream, this “crash course” was the ultimate “knocking of sense into my head”.

“Oo,” I realized with started clarity, “the world is just like a dream because I am Eternal and so nothing that appeared able to hurt me in the dream of my life could have ever really hurt me at all.”
“Nice observations,” Michael approved, “very Lucid.”

As I mentioned in my last offering for TOSP, to a Daemon, inducing Lucidity is the primary objective because it is the quintessential tool of our Liberation/“Salvation”.

Lucidity is Salvation.

When I returned to the dream of the world, I was no longer from “…round these parts.” I have ever since been centered in my existence in the Eternal and so, to the perceptions of most, “I ain’t right” and that’s okay.

Them that cannot hear have to feel.

I’ve got the mojo risein’ and I no longer ever discount anything Michael whispers into my mindspace. He’s my Beloved Constant Companion – the life raft waiting in the illuminated realm of the Eternal, anchored to me by Our mutual love, trust and reverence, while I dive the murky waters of this dream world below. Whenever I think I see something over which conditioning tells me I should suffer, it is a sign to me that I have briefly forgotten who and what I am. I have identified my Self as but a tiny character, drowning in a dream of powerlessness. As the heat in my belly served to waken me within childhood nightmares, suffering reminds me that I need to buoy up my Lucidity: Rise Again. Verily, this Spirit burns brightly enough to animate the ashes of its own rebirth. “Bring it on, Freight Train,” I growl, as it runs me down. “Is that all you got?” I stand and smile and dust off, watching it disappear with forgiving eyes. “Where are those ponies?”

My fellow divers, you need no guru. You have one in your own mindspace: a Daemon or an Angel. Either way, it is a personal messenger from God, hand-selected/created for you. You need but learn to hear Their voice and remain Lucid: Remember your True nature is Eternal. This world is just a dream, a didactic experience to teach you to remain Lucid no matter what Life throws at you. The more challenge, the more Lucid you become, and this is how you find your metaphorical wings and learn to rise above it all. This is how you fly.

I love you All,
“I dreamed I had but dreamt I had ever been awake at all and awoke with the start which is the End of all dreaming.”
Callaghan Grant
Callaghan Grant Copyright 2016. All rights reserved.

We Are the Gods of Our Own Reckonings

“I have told you, Ye are gods. Ye are all children of the most high.”

Psalm 82:6
When First Cause (AKA: “God”) renders a universe all there is to use to create it is god-stuff-extensions of God's Self. Of all of First Cause’s creations, in this world, “Human Beings” are the most like First Cause in that we are capable of rendering, just as our Maker did, other worlds, and even to change the lives in which we often appear to be trapped. Trapped we often are, too because of own thinking and our own imagining.

It is an axiom of experience – of invoking and summoning: “As you name a thing, so shall you experience it,” for your naming is The Word, the invocation. With your naming, you ask the universal mechanism to provide you with the experience as you have labeled it. In the beginning was The Word and thus began all experience. The “Ten Thousand Things” of Lao Tsu’s description sprang into being with “The Word”. When a thing/Being is cognizant and self-reflective, it is vested with creative Sovereignty. That’s right, I said Sovereignty. We are the “gods of our own reckonings”. Hence the warning: “Take care, what you wish for”. That is indeed sage advice.

“None sleep so soundly as those who but dream they are awake.”

Of all the “things” that appear to confront and challenge us, it is our thinking and our imagining (and, most of all, our thoughtless vocalizations) which we must master. Silence is golden for this reason alone. “Think before you speak” has ramifications wildly beyond what most ever dare to imagine. We are as fully vested in creative ability as is our Maker, and it is our minds and our hearts (“passions”) that are the key to what we experience and manifest.

Typically, we summon experience unconsciously. That is to say our unvoiced, unexamined expectations and fears determine what we summon into experience, and our thoughtless vocalizations too render unexpected outcomes. I say “summon” but this is a bit of a misnomer. We don’t really “attract” anything, and the fine distinction of the mechanism of manifestation is important to understand lest we sit about languishing without results while we are “allowing”. Allowing is fine – permission is required – once a manifestation’s probability has been maximized with passionate emotion. But, make no mistake, passion opens the door to manifestation. For a brief description of the way this actually works we must turn to an old model of reality, re-emerging in modern day physics: the so-called “Many Worlds Model”: 

To this model, time is an illusion. All possible scenarios exist simultaneously and the story lines we but seem to experience are assembled by the experiencer. The Universe is like a brood chamber our Maker has rendered in which to teach us to be competent to create without causing the perception of “harm”. Mind, as eternal beings, we cannot actually be harmed but, while experiencing our Selves as temporal, Mortal beings we do indeed often experience harm or "suffering"  and those “painful” experiences come to us because of the way we use our minds.

In short, the environment was rendered to manifest, very slowly, whatever it is we focus upon. This slowness is necessary until we realize we are “at cause”. Once we realize this we see what we have been willing into being, and we realize we are free to dream otherwise while there is yet time to change an undesired outcome: to avert suffering. The experience of the relative speed of manifestation changes with increasing lucidity.

It is said “The heart summons whatsoever the mind focuses upon”. Count on it. The more benevolent a being becomes, the more responsive the environment grows to that being’s thoughts/invocations. That is to say, the more conscientious a being becomes, the more their experience becomes one of accountability. That is why, for those who are full of love and compassion, and compunction, it often feels as if they are not allowed to “get away with” much destructive thinking/behavior. Ask the universe for “…but a closer walk with Thee” and you will tread “the razor’s edge” with increasing focus and lucidity – guaranteed. Mind the small print of how you invoke. The Maker has quite the quirky sense of ironic humor and trains the initiate to be precise. Feedback becomes more and more instantaneous so that we learn exactly the source of what appears in our experience: It is our own thinking/imagining and labeling – and we learn to be precise about what we ask for. But, again, we aren’t really “summoning”. Stay with me here.

If all possible scenarios exist simultaneously then every possible combination of experiences is available to be played out/experienced. One can even change course midstream over and over. It’s like an experiential smorgasbord. People say “Find your passion”, “Follow your bliss”, “Do what you love and wealth/success will follow”. This is all true and it is true because it is passion that opens the portal between the various alternate probable experiential streams. No one works to their very limit on anything they do not Love. It is this passion that drives manifestation. Yes, hard work is important to honing your craft so that, when your audience appears, they will also applaud. But it is the passion that allows you to step from a mundane life into an epic life of grand freedom and acclaim and vast sweeping EFFECTS. Mind you, this should not be considered the measure of “success”. In this world school what you are here to learn is how to manifest benevolently and, most importantly, consciously. Many heroes are entirely cryptic. They mingle among us, blessing in sacred privacy, The Thirty Six: The Lamed Vav or Tzadikim Nistarim.

Blessedly, we each have a guide, a being who has been through the process of maturation, sent to counteract our miscreation lest we suffer. That guide is the Daemon, also known as "The Holy Guardian Angel" and it is the Daemon’s intention to make us conscious, for we are mostly dreamers dreaming and creating and summoning without lucidity. To the Daemon, the first order of business is lucidity: The Daemon wants you to place responsibility for your experience precisely where it belongs: It is all your own doing/willing/“fault”, which is good. It is good because, if you are Cause, it means it is also in your power to change your experience. You are free to dream otherwise.

The task of the Daemon is quite single minded: Waken the dreamer while yet within the dream so that they become lucid dreamers creating/summoning/invoking consciously. The lucid dreamer becomes more and more centered in an experience of their own Causal Sovereignty. Until this level of intentionality is reached, the Daemon spends much creative energy whispering antidote invocations into our mindspaces. The angry child’s utterance “I wish that bastard would drop dead!” is answered with “You love your father passionately and are grateful for his presence in your life. You can hardly wait to be reconciled.” The road-raged driver’s frightened outburst “I hope your car blows up, you jerk!” is neutralized with “That poor man is late for Christmas gathering and you hope everyone makes it home safely to be with their loving family and friends. The whole world is your family and you love them.” The housewife’s shattered “I hate my life!” is answered with “You are the love the world keeps secret from its self. Your loving heart is God’s very answer to His children’s sighing”.

You get the idea. Rest assured, without the Daemon’s constant intervention to neutralize our thoughtless summonings the world would quickly devolve back into the hellish nightmare from which it has slowly emerged and on the brink of which it yet teeters while the Daemonic legions collude to waken the dreamers en masse. This, my own Daemon calls “The Will that is Holy”.

Briefly, The Will that is Holy is holy because we share it with all creation, that is, with First Cause. The Maker built this universe as an environment in which to waken all matter and all manifestations to their full causative Sovereignty. In other words, all the creative forces/minds of all Being align and join, Willing with us that we (and even all matter) waken to lucidity. God is on our side but, to make it all happen there is one simple rule the lucid dreamer must adopt fully. As my Daemon said to me in 2007: 

“If you want your words to have power, you must first cull from your speech and thoughts any words you would not to empower.”

Once you are lucid and employing assiduously the above axiom, you have begun to “Wield The Will”. This is a lovely and exciting stage of development as we move from unconsciously manifesting gloom, with our expectations of such, to consciously manifesting blessed experiences. When we think we might be seeing suffering, at this stage, we reserve judgment, recollecting that the suffering itself serves a purpose: It raises The Will that it should be “otherwise”. This is necessary for it is passion/The Will that opens the worm hole/crack or pulls back the veil barrier between alternate simultaneous experiential streams of being, allowing us to step through into a new experiential stream. As my Daemon told me during my NDE in 1979, “It (the world) seemed so scary because you believed you could suffer loss and die, but that too was necessary for, had you not experienced such fear and suffering, you would not have learned what you went there to learn. Nor would you have done what you went there to do.”

“Which was?” I prompted.

“To summon your Will.”

My Will is the Will that is Holy. It is The Will I share with God and all creation: that all creation and all dreamers waken and become lucid within the dream discovering, suddenly and with undeniable clarity, their own creative Sovereignty. And this I Will for, together, we have rendered the world a slowly improving nightmare. If we can but waken a small number who Will to dream in concert a different dream, a dream of wakening, then the world will change in “but the twinkling of an eye”. We step through the veil which our united passion opens between the realms, and we enter a new dream of true magnificence. I ask you to dream with me a new scenario. Dream it consciously. Will it with passion, invoking The Will that is Holy. We need but seven percent of the world’s population: a mere seven percent – seven brides with their lamps full, ready for the bridal feast of celebration. The groom is your Daemon. He knocks but gently, that only those who are alert and listening consciously will hear and open the door. He is waiting, with His heart full of passionate love for you, His Beloved. Let us open for Him the door.

I love you all.

Callaghan Grant
“I dreamed I had but dreamt I had ever been awaken at all and awoke with the start which is the end of all dreaming.”

Copyright 2015 Callaghan Grant. All Rights Otherwise Reserved.